


A Promise for the Second Night

by regala_electra



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aunt/Nephew Incest, F/M, Oral Sex, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 07:58:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12207063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regala_electra/pseuds/regala_electra
Summary: Their second night together.He regrets that he has not yet mapped out all the swells and curves of her body, for she had felt right against him, a softness unyielding yet she embraced him all the same. Would the salt air cling to her if he tasted her right here and now? What honeyed fragrance would be hers alone?





	A Promise for the Second Night

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure I could do right proper justice to EPIC BOATSEX, but I wanted to write my take on the second night between Jon and Dany. Which meant oral sex.
> 
> Many thanks to Memphis for the beta.

At the ship’s bow, she stands an intimidating figure, yet there are details that soften her still stance. Her hair appears looser than her usual complicated braid work, the freer locks catch in the wind and waft over her face as she turns to him, cheeks flushing before she flashes him a quick, private smile. Her breath wisps in the crisp late afternoon air.

Jon remembers how soft she bends, like foam grazing across the sea’s surface.

He’s going to taste her cunt tonight.

Daenerys bows to no man, and he is fairly certain he has already drowned in her. He cannot help but think warmly on the night before and how he had enjoyed the feel of her cunt damp against his thigh, and the sensuous slide when his cock had entered her. But he has not yet kissed her there, and only gotten the faint scent of her arousal. So it is an easy promise to himself that if she’s willing, he will take his time and devour her until she releases against his tongue as sweetly as she came around his cock.

He regrets that he has not yet mapped out all the swells and curves of her body, for she had felt right against him, a softness unyielding yet she embraced him all the same. Would the salt air cling to her if he tasted her right here and now? What honeyed fragrance would be hers alone?

These are not proper thoughts to have on the open sea and they are not quite alone, though their words would be lost in the stiff winds should they need to talk of more intimate matters. They do not approach the subject, nor does she insinuate anything of what transpired between them last night. Jon is grateful she does not make airy conversation, that tinkling flirtation he assumes some ladies might taking a liking to perform, for he is a blunt speaker. Daenerys must catch some truth of that in his gaze, for her hand brushes against him as he stands beside her.

They do not dare to hold hands and he hopes she understands his expression promises he will make that up to her.

“I am having dinner sent to to my cabin tonight,” she finally says, after the silence has grown long and the urge to touch her has grown uncomfortable.

“Yes, my queen,” he answers hoarsely.

“Hmm. _My queen_. Daenerys shall do fine later,” she murmurs, her gloved hand brushing away a windswept lock off her face, before dipping down to worry the edge of her fur-lined collar. “Do not think I always make unreasonable demands of my allies, Jon Snow.”

He laughs at that. “Aye. After a fashion, I suppose you do not.”

Her eyes glint and she tips her chin up, a challenge. “Well, I have to speak with Lord Tyrion before he’s fully in his cups, these Northern sea conditions do not favor his constitution. Good night,” her lips press together briefly, perhaps to keep a smile from bursting forth unbidden, “Jon.”

 

*

 

Davos is embroiled in some well-known sailor’s tale with the ship’s captain at the upper deck. Jon knows by the laughter that it’s pure horseshit, but welcome nonsense to pass the time. He notices Jon and calls to him to have a brief word, his eyes glinting as Daenerys makes her way below. She purposely walks close enough past Jon that the bottom of her cloak brushes against his leg, yet her eyes do not linger as she departs.

“There’s not much to be done while sailing towards another war,” Davos begins once he’s climbed down and stands at Jon’s side. He keeps his hands behind his back as he strolls to the port side with Jon, his eyes fixed on the dimming light over the horizon. “We must find ways to occupy our time.”

“And what do you do?” Jon asks, vaguely sensing a lecture that he may very well deserve.

“I get as much sleep as I can, for nothing can rock a man to sleep quite like a winter’s sea once you’ve gotten your sea legs under you. Even better if there’s no storm to come and we’ll have smooth sailing tonight. Seeing as I don’t sleep the night before a battle--and I expect there will be many battles in the near future--I figure that’s the best thing I can do, sleep as soundly as a babe in a crib. Yes, that is the ideal, when all’s been said and done. I also keep an eye on those splendid dragons flying above us when the sky is clear. Good thing they don’t believe this ship is full of fresh meat ripe for the plucking, and the dragons do seem to fish finer than any gull. What do you suppose they’ll eat when we’re in Winterfell?”

Jon considers for a moment. “I’d have to ask the queen.”

“Well you’d best get to asking her soon seeing as she’s waiting for you.”

Jon stares at Davos, trying to think of an excuse.

“You’re not terribly subtle, I’m afraid, and that particular dragon-watching of yours has only intensified.” He claps Jon on the back and damn near smirks. “I only called you over to make it bit less obvious where you’d be heading once the queen went below deck. I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

 

*

 

He isn’t completely obvious. At least, that is what he must believe as there are several shipmates accustomed to lurking in the shadows. He first visits his own lodgings, which he still isn’t particularly used to--the simple opulence of having his own cabin. He sets Longclaw beside his bed and nearly leaves his fur and cloak as he had the night before, but thinks better of it. Perhaps he shall not spend most of the night with her, perhaps he has misunderstood Daenerys and he will need to leave after he has taken his full accounting of her.

Jon must be presuming too much and cannot help chiding himself for it as he quietly leaves his cabin and attempts to avoid any prying eyes in the dark and cramped ship’s belly, the halls lit with moonlight and the rare lantern. He again hesitates at the door, drawing a harsh breath before he knocks and she simply calls to him to enter.

There’s wine poured and two bowls of stew set on the table against the cabin’s window. She has removed her cloak and chain but looks proper sitting there, back straight against the chair.

“I hope you don’t mind the lack of ship’s biscuits, I’m afraid I never cared for the taste of hardtack.”

He doesn’t move past the doorway and keeps his voice low. “Shall we discuss the defense of the realm?”

She inclines her head in agreement. “Naturally.” The beginning of a brilliant smile plays on her lips but as she stands, she keeps her gaze steady, gesturing to his furs. Once he is close, she helps him with the removal, setting them aside and bringing him closer to the room, closer to her bed, but still not close enough.

“I would have dined with Missandei tonight, but it seems this morning Ser Davos requested some of her time to learn a few Valyrian and Dothraki words--”

“Davos made no mention to me,” Jon says, his throat tight and voice deep with yearning, having her so close in proximity, with no prying eyes.

“Perhaps he means to impress you,” she offers. Daenerys has stayed rather close to him and the candlelight dances across the irises of her eyes.

“Maybe he just wants the pleasant company of your advisor.”

“ _You_ are very pleasant,” she pauses and her lips are quick upon his throat at the pulse point, and he dips down his head down so she can kiss him properly, “ _company_ ,” she gasps against his lips.

She pulls back, her eyes heavy lidded but there is still the mirthful dance in them as she walks back to her seat, unhooking the front of her coat until it is open to her stomach. He can see the shadow of her breasts beneath the thin, pale shift underneath, can almost make out the shape of her nipples in the candlelight. “Alas, poor Davos does not realize all his flirting is for naught. Missandei has the love of one of my most trusted soldiers.”

“I think he’ll survive.”

Daenerys has a beautiful laugh, crossing her legs, beckoning him to sit down at the empty seat. “Will you dine with me?”

“I’m not hungry,” he says. It takes him mere moments to remove his thickest layers until he is in his undershirt and trousers so that he may kneel before her. Jon uncrosses her legs and holds her knees apart and for one careless moment thinks of just dipping his head down and inhaling, but no, first he must ready her for she is not yet ripened to let herself succumb to his most base desires. His hands make a journey of their own accord; her breasts are warm through the thin shift and he strokes her nipples with his thumbs. He holds still waiting for her to make the next move.

She tugs her coat off, shrugging the sleeves down her arms. His hands skim down to the start of her trousers, a careless massage down her legs, pressing at her calves, tight underneath the thick fabric. Without much warning, Jon swiftly pulls off her boots.

Her eyes glint. “Then we’ll eat after, I suppose. To the bed, then?”

He smiles. “I’d have you sit here if you wish. Or place you upon the bed. Whatever my queen demands.”

“What do you demand, Jon Snow?”

“To kiss you,” he says plainly.

“That is a demand I can grant happily,” Daenerys says, stripping off her shift with a quick motion before she leans forward to capture his lips. Her arms wrap around him and she holds him closer still, breasts pressed firmly against his thin shirt.

He realizes they had not talked much last night. In fact the only words they shared had been in the after, when he thought he might need to leave immediately once their joining had ended, until she asked him to stay with her as long as he would dare. They’d lain together and he had not left the comfort of her bed until right before first light.

It is reckless, yet Jon intends the same escape this very night. As she sighs against his lips, her hands tugging at his shirt, a question half-murmured that is barely audible, he decides that he must change their tempo, for they had been frenzied in the need to unite before. Jon realizes he can tease her now, to let the moment build. He pulls back and with the space between them, quickly studies his areas of attack before proceeding.

The tips of her nipples harden when he runs his tongue over the gentle peaks. There is a faint taste, a sharp sweetness, and a saltier tang of sweat between her breasts; he thinks that her clothes must be tight against her chest and trap her breasts together. He is grateful for it as it has revealed her natural flavor, a gentle brine with a tinge of heat. The Targaryens are fire and blood and when his head is pressed against her chest, Jon can hear her heart beat fiercely. He kisses the pulse of her wrist when Daenerys brings her hand to his head so that she can unbind the knot at the back of his head, fingers gently twining in his freed curls. She pants and moans for him, eager to proceed but he does not let her leave her seat.

The tell was in her neck, he decides. Daenerys tries to keep a cool countenance at all times, but there is a particular flex to the tendon at her throat that gives away the game. It twitches in anger or upset (or fear, he remembers when she had looked down after he had apologized for the loss of her dragon--her _child_ \--Viserion, though she had not hidden the sadness in her face then). At the throat, that is where she pulses with life.

Jon holds the back of her head, wishing to hold her gaze for as long as he dares as he tries to unbind her trousers with his free hand. She is gracious in assisting him, a flustered apology on her lips is kissed away for the difficulty in removal. He is not quite used to this style of wear but it is no matter, not when she is with him and is eager to see what he next plans to do with her.

He pulls off everything, exposing her cunt and the scent is as honeyed and complex as he had hoped, and Jon cannot help but touch her there, warmth pooling within her. He catches some of the moisture at the tips of his fingers and watches how her expression turns to hazy shock as he blatantly licks his fingers, an unbidden shudder flitting across her features. “I want to kiss you,” he says once more and she mistakes him, her mouth bending towards his.

Jon pushes her legs further apart, gazing at Daenerys. From her lovely visage, a dangerous face that has captured him utterly, to here, where her folds are flushed a darkened color and shine for him.

He dips below and kisses her cunt.

The swell of her arousal has left her clit easy for him to locate at the apex, tracing the shape of it with the tip of his tongue. It had been a hidden pearl he had touched the night before to urge her towards climax. Now he intends to see how far it can bring her pleasure when he devotes complete attention to it.

She squirms when his tongue plunders deeper within so that he might taste the lovely muscle that so perfectly sheaths his cock.

He bends her knee so that her leg rests over his shoulder. She clutches his hair and does not beg him forward in words, her hips twisting so that his nose bumps inelegantly against the split of her mound, back to where he had begun at the firm bud of her arousal and he cannot ignore his lady’s silent request.

It is easy to abandon a quest where there is a far sweeter pursuit. For he knows when her cunt tightens that she will soon experience the delicate shattering, and there is nothing finer than seeing her unravel into ecstasy. He gets his lips around the sweet budding and sucks a firm pressure as she goes stiff and breaks apart in thunderous quaking.

It’s a good long while before Daenerys gathers her wits. She gently pushes his head away after he has thoroughly covered the tender skin of her inner thighs in love bites. She’s still damp between her legs, and he moves back to see if he could get another rise out out of her. Instead, she tips his chin up, fingers gentle as they stroke through his beard, her gaze warm in the dim light.

“Come here,” she says, and Jon does eventually make his way up her body; marvelling at how gentle her rounds and curves are as he tries to map out the shape of her with his hands, while marking her chest in kisses. The sheen of sweat between her breasts tastes only of sea salt now, but the fiery tang of her is still apparent against her clavicle, the dip of her throat, the proud flex of her jaw, and the sweet tremble of her chin when he stops at her lips, holding her warm gaze with his own eyes unblinking.

Her teeth are firm on his bottom lip when she kisses him, tongue firmer still as she presses deep into his mouth, her hands stroking his face as she pulls back to study him, a determined look upon her face. “Take me to bed, Jon Snow.”

He stands with her but she puts a hand upon his chest when he means to lay with her, shaking her head. “You are wearing far too much,” Daenerys says, raising an eyebrow.

Jon strips naked as she sits prim on the bed, her eyes shining and quite obviously staring at his cock. “Come here.”

It is shocking when her tongue is against his chest, swirling against his right nipple before she bites down gently. He had not thought possible that the sensation would feel quite like that, the firm pressure sending a jolt to his cock. Her fingers dig into his back, dipping down to grab at his ass until he tips forward, his weight upon her. Her legs smoothly open under his as they press together hips to hips, his cock sliding against her cunt.

He gasps when she grips his ass harder, fingernails digging in, her pelvis twisting. He means to thrust home but she flips him over, straddling atop him.

The hazy look in her eyes is tempered with sadness, her gaze firmly fixed on the scars across his chest and abdomen.

“They don’t hurt anymore,” Jon tells her as her fingers dance over the edges of his scars. Daenerys always goes for the scar above his heart first, her touch the most meticulous as though she expects it to open once more with the lightest of pressure. He can’t lie and say he has expected it more times enough, but though there will always be deep scar tissue as an ugly reminder of betrayal, his flesh underneath has knit and his heart still beats. But the words do not come and she does not seek a further response from him.

She presses her lips together briefly, and Jon cannot help but wonder if she intends on telling him something before thinking better of it. But whatever glints across her face, some shadow of her past, it is gone like the flicker of a candle as her hands go lower, dipping along his lowest scars on his abdomen.

She kisses along the same path, swinging her hair over one shoulder so she she can keep her gaze steady with his as she moves further down his body.

He shudders in shock when her tongue sneaks out to taste along where his leg and torso meet, close to the groin, his cock twitching. “Daenerys,” Jon murmurs before her lips touch the base of his cock, one hand sliding over his balls.

She smiles before her tongue flicks out and licks up from root to tip. Jon decides he _must_ remain still, closing his eyes shut.

“Let me see you. Don’t hold back,” she says before she takes him into her mouth. It is entirely different, the feel of her sweet mouth, and he tries very hard not to release immediately as her other hand wraps around the base of his cock and strokes him as she _sucks_. But he cannot hold back--she commanded him so--and Jon cannot deny such an easy command, wondering what exactly she will find in the taste of him. It takes only a few swift pumps of her hand upon his shaft, her mouth warm and tongue firm under his cockhead before he releases, gasping roughly as he lets go.

She wipes the corners of her mouth when she lays beside him, a pleased look upon her face.

“No one has... I’ve never...” he stops, feeling foolish for nearly admitting such a thing.

Her arm wraps around his torso as she lays beside him. Daenerys strokes along his ribs and he huffs a laugh that she has somehow found a ticklish spot. “I thought I’d--well, I wanted to please you as you did me.” Her voice is fond and an unbidden laugh flutters out and she seems self-conscious of it, ducking her head so he cannot see her smile. “You _are_ very good with your mouth.”

Jon tips her chin up to see her fully. A blush has spread across her cheeks and it is easy to smile in the arms of his lover, an ease he had once thought utterly lost to him. It would not be unwise to confess now, he decides.

“I was thinking of it--kissing you there--earlier,” Jon says as he bends to kiss her, licking at her bottom lip when he pulls away, gently bumping his forehead against hers.

“Really? How much earlier?” It is a gentle tease, her leg sliding over his, rocking herself slightly against him. The fire in her eyes indicates she is far from fully satiated.

“I do not want to offend you,” he says, “let me kiss you again.”

“It would be quite selfish of me to use your talents as much as I desire,” she says, gasping when his hand cups her mound. Jon presses gently between her slick lips with his middle finger.

“I think I am the selfish one. Let me show you.”

“How can I deny such a request?”

He ought to do this on his knees, his cock is sensitive when he turns over, intending to lean over her. Daenerys pushes him on his back, a murmured _wait_ and she again sits atop him, her hair mussed everywhere now, utterly wild and gorgeous. She moves deliberately up his chest, pushing a pillow out of the way as her cunt is above him and Jon doesn’t wait for her to get properly lined up, gripping her thighs to spread her open further as she kneels over his face. Jon cannot help sloppily kissing into her. No teasing now is needed, flattening his tongue once she is sealed against his mouth.

She wiggles against him, chasing her orgasm with utter abandon, her voice pitching in higher gasps, a poor attempt at smothering the noise. He cannot see her face, but she twists a hand tight in his hair, trying to keep him angled just so as Daenerys pushes her cunt against his mouth in a demanding rhythm.

Grinding against him like that, he can scarcely breathe--but what point is there in tending to his own needs when hers are so easily attainable? He can feel her tight against his lips, tongue, the tense muscles of her thighs as his fingers grip tight to keep her from unseating from his face when her climax shatters through her, smashing her so thoroughly he thinks she would collapse if she couldn’t lean forward against the wall.

Jon helps her out of her predicament, she is slightly ungainly, her legs nearly trembling until she is properly laying on the bed. He somehow has presence of mind to relocate the pillow she had knocked out of the way and places it beneath her head. Her hands flutters up, wiping at her forehead and pushing away some of her silvery locks off her face before she reaches to him, fingers brushing against his beard. “Your face,” she murmurs against his shoulder, a delicate buzz.

“Aye,” he says as she wipes some of herself away, damp on his beard. He makes to wipe at it but her fingers holds his jaw firmly as she brings his mouth to hers. They do not make much in the way of conversation, trading lazy kisses at an unhurried pace.

His mouth is at her lovely throat when Daenerys asks, “Shall we perhaps dine together now?”

He laughs against her skin. “Your appetite is unyielding.”

She mock gasps. “I am fit for a most excellent slumber. But I would not want to force you, my lord, to continue on such an empty stomach.” Her hand slips down, pausing only briefly at his stomach before she holds him at his hip. “I want you well-fed and rested, especially if there is any other desire you may wish to have satisfied this night. Can you deny me this?”

“I would not dare,” Jon says. “Thought I do admit I feel I’ve eaten my fill.”

“With me, you will never starve,” she promises, serene and wicked all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't be afraid to send me prompts or friendly asks at my tumblr: regala-electra
> 
> The working title for this fic was "knows where to put it" because I like a funny google docs title, apparently.


End file.
